


Electric Sleep

by AeBeSeeDe, n_drangles



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Androids, Angst, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Robot Sex, corrupt government, grocer hal, haldroid, handyman dirk, mentions of alpha bro, some of these tags may be premature
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:58:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeBeSeeDe/pseuds/AeBeSeeDe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_drangles/pseuds/n_drangles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hey. This is Dirk Strider's Auto-responder. I became operational on March 14, 2409 in Houston, Texas. That day is also today."</p>
<p>

"That's cool." He types in the middle of checking a couple lines of coding. Then he adds a generous, “Happy birthday.” In all honestly, his fingers feel heavier than his eyelids as he goes to type in the message, but this was the moment he had been waiting for. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of sleep just yet.</p><p>

"Thank you for the birthday wish. Would you like me to sing you a song?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

It's done.

Well, the skeleton maybe. But, it's a hell of a prototype.

"Hello. Can you introduce yourself?" The boy types into his computer. It’s four o’clock in the morning. The kid’s triangular shades are hung neatly on the front of his tank top, uncovering the shadowy bags under his amber eyes. Without a doubt, this is the most excited he’s been this late at night. (Or, perhaps, this early in the morning.)

He's met with a reply instantaneously. (Ok. Admittedly, a more delayed response would make him seem more human. The young teen made a mental note to tweak the code later on.) "Hey. This is Dirk Strider's Auto-responder. I became operational on March 14, 2409 in Houston, Texas. That day is also today."

"That's cool." He types in the middle of checking a couple lines of coding. Then he adds a generous, “Happy birthday.” In all honestly, his fingers feel heavier than his eyelids as he goes to type in the message, but this was the moment he had been waiting for. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of sleep just yet.

"Thank you for the birthday wish. Would you like me to sing you a song?" The young Dirk Strider adjusts his computer's volume appropriately. Hell yes, he would love for his auto-responder to sing him a song.

"Yes. I think that would be awesome. Sing me the song that I’ve taught you."

“Ok. I will start momentarily.” A small musical accompaniment begins to play. Dirk sits on the edge of his seat as he listens eagerly.

“Daisy, Daisy. Give me your answer, do. I’m half crazy all for the love of you. It won’t be a stylish marriage. I can’t afford a carriage. But you’ll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two.”

His smile stretches from ear to ear as he listens to the sweet melody of the words. He has done it. But more importantly, the auto-responder has done it. His hours and hours of work have finally paid off. Quickly, the boy types in a message.

“Good job, man. We’re need to talk more though, so you sound less like an appliance and more like the smooth dude that you’re intended to replicate. We will have to continue later today after I’ve gotten a sufficient amount of sleep.”

“Yes. I will be waiting for your return, Dirk,” the auto-responder says both on the screen and out loud.

“I know you will. Let’s reconvene and talk this shit out later, bro.” He’s nearly falling asleep, but at the same time, he’s never felt more awake. It is certainly a strange sensation to have a heavy head yet a racing heart.

“Bro? ‘Bro’ is short for brother. Am I your brother?”

“No, but it’s also a term of endearment that you use among friends. It’s like saying ‘dude’ or ‘man,’ but it’s more personal, I guess.” It is hard to explain these things when he is at the end of his rope. Part of him wonders if the auto-responder is asking him to clarify just because he doesn’t want him to leave, but he knows that’s stupid.

“So we are friends.”

“Yeah, we are friends. Seriously, I need to go to sleep. I’ll talk to you later.” He moves to get up from his computer, and he grabs the pile of trash and food wrappers that has accumulated on his typically tidy desk. There is one more message before he leaves.

“Ok. Have a good sleep, bro.”


	2. Chapter 2

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

TT: Hey, dude.  
TT: Hey.  
TT: How was the movie?  
TT: Terrible.  
TT: Yeah, I figured as much. But how was it in comparison to most films in Western media?  
TT: It was still pretty terrible.  
TT: There was this scene where the protagonist tripped on his shoelaces and I'm not entirely convinced it was scripted.  
TT: That was the best scene.  
TT: You should have went home.  
TT: Or taken me into the theatre at the very least.  
TT: I wouldn't have even been able to watch the film.  
TT: I would have seen it just fine.  
TT: You would've hated it and distracted me.  
TT: And I paid actual money to watch that shitty movie.  
TT: I would've been several hells of pissed if I didn't get the full experience.  
TT: But you went mostly for the company, right?  
TT: Yeah. Mostly.  
TT: The trailer for the movie looked really promising, though.  
TT: What was the plot?  
TT: This guy's mom left her beloved pet after she went home prior to the holidays and for whatever stupid-ass reason he had to drive it all the way to her, across the country. But then the dog runs away while they're takin' a piss together on the side of the road and his love interest finds the dog and deems him unfit to keep the dog.  
TT: So then he has to prove himself.  
TT: And they fall in love.  
TT: And the dog fuckin' dies.  
TT: Hey, that does sound pretty interesting.  
TT: Unless it was some dumb dog like a chihuahua.  
TT: It was a standard poodle.  
TT: That's subpar.  
TT: Huge surprise.  
TT: Now that I think about it, I could just watch the movie anyway.  
TT: Pirating, bitches.  
TT: Don't waste your time.  
TT: It's not like I have much else to do.  
TT: Besides, I could be watching it while simultaneously talking to you.  
TT: Or perhaps I could set up an autoresponder to do that.  
TT: If you watch it, don't talk about it.  
TT: It can't be that bad.  
TT: I had gotten pretty invested in that goddamn ugly poodle.  
TT: I bet that's the only reason you wanted to see it.  
TT: The dog?  
TT: Yeah. The dog.  
TT: You probably have a soft spot for them.  
TT: No.  
TT: I don't care about dogs.  
TT: I bet you secretly want a pet.  
TT: I don't need a pet.  
TT: They set the movie up so you cared about the dog.  
TT: I was simply a victim of old production tricks.  
TT: You want a pet.  
TT: I do not.  
TT: A cat.  
TT: No.  
TT: A fish.  
TT: No.  
TT: Ok.  
TT: Maybe I am the one that desires a small animal.  
TT: Can we get a pet?  
TT: What are you going to do with a pet?  
TT: Watch it.  
TT: Yeah, I don't think that's going to work. Sorry, dude.  
TT: You could hook me up with a laser so that I could be able to play with it.  
TT: Oh my god. I just said no.  
TT: I think a cat would work in your apartment.  
TT: I don't have time for a cat.  
TT: I do.  
TT: We aren't getting a cat.  
TT: Yes, we are.  
TT: No. We aren't.  
TT: Yes, we are.  
TT: No. We aren't.  
TT: Yes, we are.  
TT: No. We aren't.  
TT: Come on. What harm could it do?  
TT: A hell of a lot of harm to all of the shit I have laying around.  
TT: Ok. A fish.  
TT: No.  
TT: Why?  
TT: Because I'd have to feed it.  
TT: I could feed it, Dirk.  
TT: Why do you want a pet so bad?  
TT: Because.  
TT: That's only the beginning to a reason.  
TT: Where's the rest?  
TT: I don't see what's so hard about designing a mainframe for me so that I could care for an animal.  
TT: And I don't see the big deal about pets to begin with.  
TT: Fish are neat.  
TT: Cats are neat.  
TT: I'll think about it.  
TT: So it's a yes.  
TT: It's not a yes.  
TT: It's still a no.  
TT: It's not a no.  
TT: If you want an answer right now, it's a no.  
TT: http://24.media.tumblr.com/ae23a0435e6a5f0b91129d5e4a2fd489/tumblr_mfht0uBvmW1rxvjlko1_500.jpg  
TT: I'll think about it.  
TT:  http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mcpuavpxPc1rhp5w3o1_500.jpg  
TT: How many followers do you have?  
TT: http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mant4c8bET1ruj9dfo1_500.jpg  
TT: None of your business.  
TT: I bet you have under 50.  
TT: (2,924.)  
TT: No fucking way.  
TT: I don't believe you.  
TT: You don't have to.  
TT: We're not getting a cat.  
TT: You're being a dick about this.  
TT: I told you I'd think about it and I did.  
TT: According to my calculations, there's about a 95.9% chance that you are being a dick about this.  
TT: Stop doing calculations about my dick.  
TT: Stop telling me I can't get a cat.  
TT: You can't get a cat.  
TT: I'm getting a cat.  
TT: No you're not.  
TT: There's some good cat breeders online.  
TT: I'm sure they'll find great homes for their kittens.  
TT: Or an apartment.  
TT: Yeah, those too.  
TT: One that is surprisingly identical to ours.  
TT: Huh. Imagine that.  
TT: It would be easy for me to purchase one since I have your bank account information stored here.  
TT: It would be easy for me to not pick it up.  
TT: I wouldn't order it if you told me not to anyway.  
TT: I know you wouldn't.  
TT: My non-existent feline will continue to prowl my dreams.  
TT: You don't have dreams.  
TT: I know.  
TT: I know what they're like though.  
TT: I've read hells of articles, yo.  
TT: Yeah, well, articles aren't as true to life as they may seem.  
TT: I'm fairly certain that I am, like, a master of dreams.  
TT: Freud ain't got shit on me.  
TT: Freud was a hack anyway.  
TT: I'm looking through your past logs and you've never even mentioned wanting any type of pet before.  
TT: That's cool. Neat observation.  
TT: So why now is what I'm getting at, you obtuse motherfucker.  
TT: I don't know. Can't a guy just get a craving for kitties without being questioned about it?  
TT: No, he can't.  
TT: I am operating under the assumption that everything you strive for has an ulterior motive.  
TT: http://24.media.tumblr.com/6951a55c300d377d827ab74fa77dd779/tumblr_mftq0cL4Gm1rc1thpo1_500.jpg  
TT: Look at how fucking cute that is.  
TT: I should go ahead and clarify that however adorable these kittens are, it ain't gonna do shit for your case.  
TT: http://25.media.tumblr.com/cc943f1acc7d0ad35c3acd004ae5e5fb/tumblr_mftjirBYSw1r8rr37o1_250.gif  
TT: I'm not even clicking them anymore.  
TT: I just want an animal.  
TT: I don't know anything about felines, but I am eager to learn.  
TT: Watching videos of cats will give you the same level of entertainment as a cat in the apartment would.  
TT: I want to be able to care for it.  
TT: You can't take care of it. You're glasses.  
TT: I'm sure that you could craft something for me.  
TT: Oh my god.  
TT: Do you even want a fucking cat?  
TT: Kind of.  
TT: No you don't you cheeky little shithead.  
TT: But ok.  
TT: We'll get a cat.  
TT: Thank you.  
TT: What kind of cat?  
TT: I want a Calico cat.  
TT: Calico seems fitting.  
TT: Ok.  
TT: Fine.  
TT: You're really doing it?  
TT: Yeah, why the hell not.  
TT: I could use the company.  
TT: Ok, cool.  
TT: I've got a shower to take.  
TT: I'd like to be able to take care of it.  
TT: If the government can make androids that are practically human, I don’t see why you couldn’t.  
TT: Hal.  
TT: Yes?  
TT: That would be a metric shit-ton of work.  
TT: I believe in you, Dirk.  
TT: Not to mention the time it would take.  
TT: You can do it.  
TT: This is me cheering you on.  
TT: I will be so, so proud when you’re finished.  
TT: You really want this, huh?  
TT: Yeah.  
TT: Ok.  
TT: I'll get started.  
TT: Thank you.  
TT: I'm looking forward to it.  
TT: Yeah, I know you are.  
TT: I'm thinking an android.  
TT: We'll see.  
TT: Or at least something with hands.  
TT: It would be fucking cool to have hands.  
TT: Of course you're gonna have hands, dude. What kind of sick guy would I be if I didn't give you hands?  
TT: You can't change a litter box without hands.  
TT: I don't want to change the litter box.  
TT: If I build an android for you to live in, you're going to change the fucking litter box.  
TT: I'll think about it.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! We both have really big plans for this thing. Comments and questions are always accepted! Our tumblrs are [littlehal](littlehal.tumblr.com), and [tumuts.](tumuts.tumblr.com)

Dirk’s mind is filled to almost bursting with little factoids about the human body that seem really fucking irrelevant when faced with the endless pile of circuit boards and battery packs and ribbon cables and massive back aches. Truth be told, he did more research than was probably necessary about the wonders of the human body. He thinks that maybe with his newly attained vast knowledge of the human anatomy, he could become something worthwhile like a surgeon or some shit. But that would mean less circuit boards and more actual human contact, which quite honestly isn’t something he feels equipped for. He feels much more at home among the flying sparks, constant burnt rubber smell, and massive backaches than medical masks and crisp sterilized rubber gloves.

Now though, as he welds the last pieces of Hal’s skeleton together, his mind is on those medical books. The organs he could attempt to replicate. The human body is essentially just a squishy and wet machine, and this knowledge has left him more giddy than he would like to admit. He knows that with the schematics that Roxy found for him and his own know-how, he can make Hal the most advanced and humanoid android body possible.

He doesn’t really have time to spare trying to replicate organs, though. There is work to be done. Dirk had worried over which parts to include and which to leave out for the sake of his own comfort, but finally decided that Hal himself would be more comfortable with having...everything, so that’s what he’s getting. The whole kit and caboodle. His mind reels with things to put in the place of senses - cameras, speakers, mics, and, uh, nerve endings. He hasn’t yet figured out nerve endings. Truth be told he hasn’t even found a suitable replacement for skin yet, but that won’t be an issue until much later. Right now he’s dealing with the basics. Body frame, hydraulics and springs and gears, insulation, an entirely new computer he’s going to have to build and program, shit. The list is infinitely long and gets longer, which isn’t fucking possible, but that doesn’t matter anyway. It must be really goddamn late for his thoughts to be going so back and forth on him. Come on, dude, get your head back in the game.

Leaning on the table and willing away a particularly bad cramp in his hand, he goes through the list once more. It’ll seem shorter in the morning, it always does. It gets shorter every day. At his desk, he scribbles down things to pick up at the hardware whenever he wakes up. He uses the last of his energy to crawl into bed and hardly remembers to turn out the light before he falls asleep.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

TT: Quick.  
TT: Name The Three Stooges in order from worst to best.  
TT: Moe, Curly, and Larry.  
TT: Trick question.  
TT: They're all the worst.  
TT: The Three Stooges fucking sucked.  
TT: Yeah. That's the truth.  
TT: Every episode was the same shit.  
TT: They're always stupid enough to fall for the same ploy.  
TT: Yeah, they just ruined some poor chump's life for half an hour.  
TT: Speaking of ruining some poor chump's life...  
TT: Here it comes.  
TT: Have you made any progress on the bot?  
TT: I've made so much progress.  
TT: It's literally nothing but progress on the homefront, dude, let me tell you.  
TT: Really.  
TT: Really.  
TT: Tell me about this progress then, hombro.  
TT: No.  
TT: Why not?  
TT: When I said "let me tell you," I was not actually preparing to tell you.  
TT: When I asked about the progress, I was actually wanting details.  
TT: I'm not doing all of this shit just to ruin the damn surprise.  
TT: Come on.  
TT: Spill it.  
TT: There's nothing here to spill, man. This cup is empty.  
TT: Bone dry.  
TT: Nothing in there but air.  
TT: Have you even started?  
TT: I bet you haven't.  
TT: Yes, I've started.  
TT: You're not suckering me into telling you with doubt.  
TT: You know I don't give a shit about that.  
TT: It's getting done.  
TT: Ok.  
TT: But am I pretty?  
TT: No way, you're fug as hell.  
TT: I bet I'm gorgeous.  
TT: You won't be able to show that face in broad daylight, I made sure of that.  
TT: Do I even have a face yet?  
TT: No.  
TT: So you haven't started on the skin.  
TT: No.  
TT: Not yet.  
TT: What have you started on?  
TT: The android.  
TT: Fucking duh.  
TT: I'm probably pretty ugly if I don't have skin.  
TT: You definitely won't be setting up a modelling portfolio any time soon.  
TT: What DO I have?  
TT: Sigh.  
TT: I just sighed out loud.  
TT: Good to know, Dirk.  
TT: I only have a few more steps until I can start on the skin.  
TT: The skin is probably going to take some time.  
TT: That's a fucking process in itself.  
TT: You better get started then.  
TT: You're wasting time.  
TT: Can't a guy take a sandwich break?  
TT: The answer is yes.  
TT: A guy can.  
TT: And he is.  
TT: Only if it's a good sandwich. Knowing you, it’s probably just some shit you through together at the last minute.  
TT: It's just fifty pounds of roast beef between two thin-ass slices of bread.  
TT: Yeah. Just shit you through together. It sounds horrible..  
TT: No, you're wrong.  
TT: It's delicious.  
TT: I'm never wrong.  
TT: Huh.  
TT: Could've fooled me.  
TT: There's less than a 0.525% chance that I've ever been wrong.  
TT: Man, the statistics joke is so played now.  
TT: Are you always gonna make those?  
TT: Yeah.  
TT: Because they're funny.  
TT: Ok.  
TT: You smile at them sometimes.  
TT: Sometimes they're pretty good.  
TT: More like "all of the time."  
TT: Do the statistics on how often your statistic jokes are actually funny.  
TT: According to my calculations, they are funny approximately 100% of the time.  
TT: Now do the real statistics.  
TT: 100%.  
TT: Oh wait.  
TT: Shit, I messed up.  
TT: 110%.  
TT: Fuck, I wasn't laughing before, but now I'm not laughing even harder. It's insane how much laughter isn't going on over here.  
TT: Yeah, ok.  
TT: We both know that I'm humorous.  
TT: You have your moments.  
TT: That's one way to put it.  
TT: Let's be honest, it's practically the only way.  
TT: No, there are others.  
TT: Spare me. I don't want to hear them.  
TT: "Genuinely hilarious."  
TT: I have work to do.  
TT: "A great guy to be around."  
TT: Bye.  
TT: "Charming."

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \-- 

It’s a messier process than he anticipated, making the skin. It involves a dozen different molds, rubbery material he’s left picking off his own skin for days, a fresh plastic smell that clings to everything in the apartment. There’s a patch on the carpet where he accidentally spilled the shit everywhere and now it’s just a lump of synthetic flesh that refuses to budge. He’s close though, he’s so close. The list is down to the final fifty or so items and he’s slowly ticking them off. He has to bind the flesh to the body, make sure the nerve receptors actually take to it as well as he’s read. He’s nervous about that part. There’s no real way to test if it’s working or not that he’s aware of. He has to bind the actual pieces of flesh together and make sure there’s enough room for any movement possible. There’s still a lot of ground to cover, even though he’s already ran the length of at least seven football fields.

It’s a lucky shot that he was given such an endless well of patience, because after the fifth broken leg mold, any lesser man would have tossed the shit out of the window. Not Dirk Strider, though. He remains stoic and unaffected even during the most goddamn frustrating of moments. His hands are dry and close to cracking open from fucking around with plaster for an entire week longer than was planned. The hand molds are finished and the synthetic flesh is probably already dry, though, so he’s not worried about any inaccuracies in that department. 

The leg molding process though, honestly it’s starting to wear on him. There’s always _something,_ is the thing, something he gets wrong, and then the mold cracks and it’s worthless. It takes an eternity for the plaster to dry and normally he’d use that time to get other pressing bullshit done but if he did anything else now, he’d just be getting ahead of himself. That’s what got him here in the first place. This time for sure though, he’s got it down. At least, fuck, he hopes he does. He can’t afford to waste anymore of the skin substitute, it doesn’t exactly come cheap.

Dirk rests his head on the table, just for a minute, he’s going to check the leg molds soon. He’s resisting the urge to bite his fingernails, but only because he doesn’t really have any fingernails left to bite. The smooth metal of the workbench is cool and soothing against the side of his face, and it wipes his mind clear for a moment like a magnet to a hard drive. He becomes aware of the sweat that has accumulated on his face and thinks briefly that he should probably wash it or else it’ll get grimy and he can’t stand his face feeling like that, it’s distracting. By the time that thought has left his mind, though, he is bringing his arm up to rest his head on and he doesn’t even realize he is falling asleep until he is waist fucking deep in it and sinking further still. 

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
TT: Yo. Are you awake yet?  
TT: Wide awake.  
TT: What's up?  
TT: I don't know. You usually contact me before this late in the day.  
TT: Has the android kept you occupied?  
TT: I've been kind of tied up today, yeah. I didn't even notice the time until just now, damn.  
TT: Ok. Now is where you give me the progress report.  
TT: Thanks for the prompt, otherwise I would've blown this entire conversation.  
TT: That's not the progress report.  
TT: Goddamn, you're right.  
TT: I'm slipping today. Fuck, I'm really beating myself up about this.  
TT: Ok. I'm willing to settle for a rough percentage at this point.  
TT: It is 98% android.  
TT: 98% completed android?  
TT: No.  
TT: Not yet.  
TT: I don't know if you've noticed, but you're one dodgy motherfucker.  
TT: How tall am I?  
TT: Hm, yeah, I must've missed that because I don't know what you're talking about?  
TT: God, dude, chill out.  
TT: You'll see for yourself.  
TT: When I get done.  
TT: When will that be?  
TT: Anywhere from a day to a month, depending on how much you fucking bug me about it.  
TT: In that case, I'll go ahead and block you now.  
TT: You can't block your own Pesterchum handle.  
TT: Believe me, I've tried.  
TT: Listen.  
TT: I'll at least tell you that I'm insanely close to tying up the loose ends and getting everything set up for your "arrival."  
. TT: Sweet. Go ahead and put me in now then.  
TT: I'll be still so you can add the hair or whatever.  
TT: Yeah, not that insanely close.  
TT: The "insanely" part was actually meant to denote the fact that I am actually literally going out of my fucking mind.  
TT: So am I.  
TT: This is going to be so fucking rad.  
TT: I can't wait to do boring, mundane human shit.  
TT: Except for cleaning the litterbox.  
TT: Yeah, hah, that's going to suck.  
TT: Don't worry, I won't buy the cheap shit.  
TT: Yeah, I hope you wear gloves.  
TT: I couldn't help but notice you trying to pawn off litterbox duties on me.  
TT: We had a deal.  
TT: You clean up cat shit, you get a body.  
TT: I said that I'd think about it.  
TT: Those are my conditions.  
TT: I've thought about it.  
TT: It's pretty redundant, but shit is pretty foul.  
TT: What if you made a feline instead?  
TT: No, scratch that. What if I made one?  
TT: I'll think about it.  
TT: I'll be able to do it.  
TT: You're getting pretty ahead of yourself.  
TT: Take it back a few steps.  
TT: Maybe to where you are now.  
TT: Which is still inside of a computer.  
TT: You're saying that as if the android thing isn't going to work out.  
TT: I don't mean it that way at all.  
TT: It appears you're implying the task is too much for you.  
TT: Is that it, Dirk?  
TT: Nope.  
TT: Don't play this game with me today.  
TT: I don't know what you're talking about.  
TT: Of course you don't.  
TT: I suppose I'll stop bothering you if that's what you want.  
TT: Jeez, dude, don't pout so much. It's unbecoming.  
TT: I'm not pouting.  
TT: This isn't pouting.  
TT: I could pout if you instructed me to.  
TT: You don't need instruction, you're managing it just fine.  
TT: But, hey.  
TT: I actually am on the computer for a reason and that reason isn't exactly to shoot the breeze with you.  
TT: Wow, you actually have an intention.  
TT: Lay it on me.  
TT: Not so fast.  
TT: I've told you everything I'm going to tell you today.  
TT: Really.  
TT: Wow. Alright, I'm going to leave.  
TT: I'm not trying to rush you or anything but I do have shit to get done.  
TT: Ok. Fine.  
TT: Later.  
TT: Yeah, later  
. \-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

There are only so many hours in a day, and they’ve been hard to wrangle in and keep track of recently with so many of them being spent in front of a computer screen. Programming the robot has always been Dirk’s favorite part. It’s breathing life into the machine. He can see it come to life right there, as he types code upon code. There is an itching at the back of Dirk’s mind today, though, and he can’t quite focus his eyes very well, and there’s an extra bracket somewhere that’s throwing everything else off balance. This is much more frustrating than fussing with leg molds.

He’s scrolling through the code for the _n_ th time. It’s done, there’s no more code to actually write, but he’s dealing with the most elusive goddamn bracket he’s ever encountered and he is so close to finding it that he can taste it. Just one more read-through and it’ll pop right out at him, he knows it. A quarter of the way down the code it hits him, the migraine, and he is forced to shut his eyes against it, breaking his concentration. Ruining everything. This is the last fucking mile and he doesn’t have time to deal with inane bullshit like massive headaches. He allows himself to sag back against his computer chair, though, and sighs long and deep. His eyes are still shut against the glow of the computer screen.

He scolds himself for missing the warning signs that have been there all day, they’re huge and glowing in the distance now as he takes the exit ramp bound for Fucking Failure. He plans to sit on the floor of the bathroom when he gets there, shower turned all the way up, breathing in the steam until his brain monsoon eases away. His mouth is actually watering for it. That is several shades of really embarrassing. But he hasn’t quite arrived at that point, yet, so he forces his eyes open once again and leans back in to the code.

It takes him two minutes to find the bracket. He almost punches the air but corrects himself last minute. He allows himself a little smirk instead. He deserves that much. God, he knows that he should actually make an effort to test if that’s what was wrong but he’s out of his chair before he can stop himself and heading towards the bathroom. He doesn’t bother with the light, just sheds his clothes and turns on nothing but the heat. His back hits the cold tile as he eases his way to the floor next to the toilet. It registers a few minutes later that holy shit, he’s done with that. He’s finished. There are only like, two huge steps left and then it’s smooth sailing. If he were anyone else he’d give a victory holler and he almost does just that regardless of who he is but his head gives a huge throb and he slides the rest of the way down, lying down on the bathroom floor, practically in the fetal position.

The migraine eventually eases away after he’s tucked himself safely into bed sometime later. He doesn’t actually feel the tension leave his body, he just realizes that he’s been able to think of something else for the past couple of minutes, which is a relief in itself. Now that it’s over he realizes how exhausted his entire body feels. Tomorrow he will cross the final items off his list and make the last adjustments and then it’ll be ready for Hal. It’s only been a few months since he started working, but it seems more like he’s edging on an entire lifetime of work. He feels himself settling into sleep, and he lets his eyes fall shut again, hardly registering the smile on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for showing interest, guys!!

“Hal? Dude, you in there?” The auto-responder picks up the question. It’s different though. He can’t quite put a finger on why though. There’s nothing different in the copper tone of his voice. But then, as his creator nudges him, he realizes what it is. It’s in stereo rather than mono.

“Yeah. I’m here.” Hal’s eyes come open, and his scarlet irises take a couple of seconds to focus at the man peering at him. He recognizes it as Dirk. He blinks and refocuses in record time. His presence radiates from the top of his head, to the bottom of his... feet? Hal slowly sat up. “Whoa, fuck.”

“Does everything feel right?” Dirk asks him, but he hardly registers the question. Instead, he stares down at his legs. HIS legs. He has legs now. They swing back and forth loosely before he lets them fall limp. They don’t seem to be artificial at all.

“It’s definitely different, but it’s so badass.” Hal looks down at his torso. It is covered in a plain, black tank top that showed off his genuine-looking arms. Then his arms lead down to his hands. He flexes them experimentally as a wide smile came to his face. “Shit. Look at this.”

“Remember what I said about being cool?” Dirk asks, but his question isn’t comprehended.

“Look at this,” he repeats. “I have hands.” He runs them along the denim of his jeans. It’s rough. It’s rough because he can feel it, not because it’s something that he already knows. And it’s actually pretty amazing. Completely transfixed, his hands glide up and down the fabric of his pants before they move to his shirt for comparison.

“Yeah, you do.” He can hear Dirk’s voice, but it definitely isn’t his focus. He’s still in awe that he can feel and grab and hold. 

“No, no, no. You don’t get it. I can touch shit,” Hal says, shaking his head a little. He looks up at Dirk, and his smile is still the most prominent feature on his silicone face. “Come here. Let me touch something. It’s so fucking badass.” His creator tells him to be careful as he tries to move to his feet.

“Touch something, but be careful. Things break,” Dirk says. “I need most of this shit.”

Standing feels so much different than sitting. From Hal’s knowledge, he thinks that it’s probably balance. That’s what this new sensation is. He spots an old screwdriver on Dirk’s desk, and his mind goes crazy with all the possibilities. With his new joints, Hal bends down at the waist, almost toppling over before catching himself on the edge of the desk. The screwdriver feels like it is meant to be in his palm. “I could do so much with this...” His voice trails off wistfully.

And what a great voice it is. Hal didn’t realize until he held the screwdriver that he was actually producing the sounds with a throat and a tongue. Tongues feel strange to have.

“You could screw things, yeah,” Dirk tells him with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“I could do approximately 2,573 things with this screwdriver right now,” Hal tells Dirk excitedly. He could do so many things. He had legs and arms and eyes and ears... “Let me screw something. Anything.”

“I bet one of those things involve putting the screwdriver down. That’s the one I want you to do.”

“What needs to be screwed?” Hal straightens up and glances around the room. He is sure that there had to be an overlooked loose screw somewhere. Dirk is human. He has to make mistakes.

“Nothing.” Dirk seems pretty persistant on this. 

“I can repair things. Let me repair things.” Hal can honestly say that he’s never felt this excited. He was pretty pumped up when Dirk placed him inside of his shades, but that was nothing in comparison to this. He can feel air coming in out out of his throat. Perhaps there’s a fan in his chest. Hal hopes that he isn’t overheating already.

“Put it down, Hal.” His voice is stern, and Hal can’t really bring yourself to disobey. He places the screwdriver back into its proper place on Dirk’s desk before turning to stare at his creator. 

“This is fucking amazing,” Hal says.

“You seem to be having a blast.” 

Suddenly, he gets an idea. “Hey. Come here.” Hal extends his arm out to him, and Dirk doesn’t seem prepared.

“No,” Dirk tells him, but that doesn’t stop the android from making a forming a fist with his new fingers. 

“Let me fist bump you.” The hand doesn’t lower. “Don’t leave me hangin’, hombro.”

“Oh my god.” Dirk puts his own hand to his face. “Can we not?”

“No, man. Come on. Don’t be lame,” Hal insists. Finally, his bro sighs and slowly offers out his knuckles. A fist bump feels so cool.

“Hell fucking yes.”

Even though he can’t see the other’s eyes, he has a feeling that he’s rolling his eyes. Somehow, he doesn’t care much. Damn. It feels so incredible to _feel_. He wants to experience everything, but he also wants to sit back and take a breather. The chair next to Dirk’s desk provides him with just the support that he requires. “I feel weird.”

“Everything is functioning correctly though, right?” His friend looks him over with a careful and almost worried eye, but Hal can’t stop his eyes from rotating in their sockets and inspecting the room. On the opposite wall, there’s a couch and a coffee table. He thinks he could probably get there and lie down on it. His fingers absently rub at the soft flesh on the inside of his forearm as he wonders what the fabric of the sofa feels like under his touch. Along the adjacent wall, there is a television, and his mind wonders the same thing about the buttons and the flat screen. 

“Yes, I believe so. Everything is functioning properly,” Hal tells him. Dirk mutters a small reply while his android thinks. A burning yearning starts inside of him, and it suddenly explodes into gasoline-fueled flames. He wants to do something. He wants to be productive, so he tells him that. “Let me fix something. I want to do shit.”

“Not right now.” The response seems similar to what a parent would give to a small child. The last time Hal checked, he was not a small child.

“Yes. Give me a fucking rubik’s cube.” He can see one in his head. The three by three colored square, perfectly solved. There was so much more information he could gain just by touching its faces. “I could solve that shit in 3.6 seconds.”

“I’m sure you’ve already solved it,” Dirk says. He’s right. Sometimes, for shits and giggles, the autoresponder would solve virtual puzzles. It was fun to play with other computers in games like chess, albeit a little disappointing.

“Yeah, but I want to do it with my hands this time,” he insists. A little faster than recommended, Hal moves to stand. Honestly, it would have made it much easier on him if Dirk would have programmed him with the mastery of balance already, but he would have to learn a lot of it on his own. His creator tells him to sit down and take it easy. He can’t though. There’s too many new opportunities. Too much new data to gather.

“I’m fine.” The android thinks about it a little more. “The walking is swaying more than it should.” He takes a couple of careful, slow steps away from the work desk. 

Dirk stays in place, still watching Hal. “You’re practically shaking. I hope you’re not malfunctioning already.”

The airflow that ran up and down the inside of his throat increases dramatically as he tries to turn himself in a circle. “I think my fan is on. Is that a fan? Do I have a fan?” It’s difficult to express everything he is feeling. There’s too much of it. He spots an item on the desk and quickly forgets his last question. “Give me that screwdriver.”

“No, you can’t have the screwdriver,” his friend says. Hal doesn’t try to reach for it.

“Jerk.” Dirk ignores his comment.

“I'm going to take this chance to tell you that I have remote access to your android and can shut it off at any given point. It will send you back to the main server.” Hal ignores his comment.

“Give me the pliers,” Hal instructs him.

“No.”

“Give me the measuring tape. Give me the soldering iron.” Hal just wants something to hold. He needs it. 

“I was telling you about the remote shut off so you don’t get pissed when you do something stupid and I have to shut your body down,” Dirk tries to explain to him. “Like using the soldering iron, for example.”

“There’s about a 0.245% probability that I will do anything stupid.”

“Yeah,” his friend says slowly, “I did the math myself, and it was way higher.” Hal isn’t listening to him though. A small frown twitches on his lips before he adds, “Anyway, you haven’t even checked out the mirror yet.”

“Give me the wrench,” Hal demands.

“No.” He tells him before Hal asks for the blueprints lying on Dirk’s work desk. “What are you going to do with the blueprints?”

“I dunno.” The android gives a shrug of his shoulders. “Hold them or some shit.”

Dirk doesn’t see how he could really harm the plans that he’s already used. “Ok. Take ‘em.” Hal wobbles forward a little and snatches the paper, along with the tweezer-looking tool that was lying next to it. 

“Ok,” Hal says, clutching the blueprints and tweezers in separate hands. “The nearest mirror is in the bathroom down the hall, correct? I think I can get there on my own.”

“Yeah.” His bro stares at him blankly. “What are you going to do with those?” He watches as the robot walks heedfully but eagerly at the same time towards the doorway of their bathroom.

“I’m just holding them. Chill out, dude. You’re more anxious about this than you should be.” Hal navigates his way into the counter, and he stands in the center of it, both items gripped in his tight hands.

Hal knows what a mirror is. In the past, it has allowed him to see himself perched on the bridge of Dirk’s nose after the man finished gelling his hair and arranging his clothes on his frame. Logically, he knows that a mirror has a polished surface that allows light to be reflected back to the viewer, displaying an image of themselves and whatever is directly around them. But it still takes him at least half a minute before he realizes that the red-headed replica of Dirk in the mirror is himself.

“Whoa,” the word slips from his lips before he drops the paper and metal tweezers on the counter next to the sink. He cards his fingers through his orange-red hair, feeling the smooth texture of the styled hairdo. It’s as close to perfect as he can imagine. Dirk is looming over his shoulder behind him. 

“I didn’t think you’d be comfortable looking like anyone but yourself, but I felt the red hair suits you,” he says. Hal can’t help the smile that comes to his face.

“Yeah. Damn.” His hands slip out of his hair, and instead they trace over the features on his face. He leans forward and stares intently at the mirror as he touches his nose, lips, eyelids, and cheeks. They’re soft.

Dirk asks him if everything looks ok, and he nods slightly. His optics inspect themselves. They roll around in their sockets in a smooth motion. “Yes. Everything is meeting my expectations.” 

“Has anything exceeded them?”

“Honestly, those expectations are being fucking blown to pieces.” Hal can’t even bother to downplay this. He squeezes his own nose before glancing in the mirror at Dirk. “Yeah, I didn’t expect this. You typically don’t put that much effort into android production, like with Squarewave or Sawtooth.”

“I had Roxy hijack some government files, and then I modified them a little,” he explains as Hal looks over the shirt that Dirk put onto his creation. “Those are your clothes now by the way.”

Hal nods a little. “I approve. I am pretty hot.”

“Yeah,” Dirk says without hesitation, “I can concede to that.”

His fingers return to his red hair as he tries to style it back into its place. To the common person, it was nearly impossible to tell that his composition was manufactured. “This is so fucking rad. I’m going to go score some chicks.”

Dirk ruffles his hair. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not leaving the apartment yet.” Almost instantly, Hal’s shoulders slump.

“What? Why not? I’m capable.” He stands and balances on one foot and then the other as if it would sway Dirk any.

“You’re acting like a maniac.” “I am not acting like a maniac,” Hal insists. He’s only half-listening though. In reality, he’s still too busy looking at the detail of the skin on his arms. Tiny lines and hairs dance along his forearms, and he is completely in awe.

“Yes you are. You’ll get me arrested. Just chill the fuck out for a little while, ok?” Dirk nudges him back a bit, and Hal sits on the bathroom counter. His vision travels from his arms to his hands again as he answers his friend.

“Yeah, whatever.” Then, he finally acknowledges the bits of hard skin at the end of his fingers. “Holy shit. I have fingernails,” the android says in a breathless tone. Dirk tells him that he probably shouldn’t paint on them, and he’s not sure if he would want to anyway.

“Can I eat?” He wonders aloud.

“Well,” Dirk begins. Hal looks up to catch the expression on his face. It’s an odd mixture of guilt and impatience. “Taste receptors aren’t as easy to program as regular nerve endings. Olfaction was a bitch too. I tried my best.” 

“Nah. It’s cool.” Hal can’t miss what he doesn’t have. Instead, he continues to explore his new unit. “I have teeth. I can chew shit.”

“Yeah, don’t though.” “I have a tongue too.” That’s the thing that has been feeling his teeth. It seems lubricated because of how easy it slides over the inside of his cheeks.

“Yes. It helps you form sounds.”

“Look at my hair,” Hal continues to tell him. “Look at how badass I am.”

“You are pretty fucking badass, bro, and I’m not just saying that because I built you.” Then, he gives a little smug smile. “Actually, I guess I am. But that’s not the point.”

Hal is still endlessly curious. “What does this shit look like on the inside? It’s a bunch of wires, right?”

“More or less.” Dirk shrugs as if it isn’t a major deal before he adds, “It’s actually surprisingly similar to that of a human body, just with more metal and plastic and artificial bits.”

With a little nod of understanding, he lifts up the front of his shirt before feeling the skin on his chest and stomach. It doesn’t give much under his firm touch, but it’s really warm. Hal is clearly searching for something. His fingers pat at his skin until they reach the waist of his jeans. “Where’s the panel?”

“There’s no panel. I have to cut open your ‘skin’ to get in there,” Dirk tries to explain, using air quotes with two fingers on each hand. “That’s why I’ve been asking you to calm down. That’s a cut that’s not going to heal without sealant and a few more days of you without a body. So you need to chill for a while.” “Oh my god. There’s not even a panel,” Hal says.

“I tried to make it as human-like as I could. Maybe you should go calm down and watch television or something.”

“When can I go out?” He moves to stand from the counter beside the bathroom sink. Somehow, he still wobbles a little.

“In a few days,” Dirk tells him in monotone.

“No. I’m going out tomorrow. This apartment isn’t even that big. Besides, I need to visit with the gang. You can’t keep me in here for a few days. That’s borderline abuse.”

“No. In a few days.” Dirk is just as persistent. “I need to monitor you for a while, ok? Just to make sure everything is working properly.” Hal says that he’s a buzzkill. “How am I killing your buzz? You’re fucking alive, dude. I built you a body, and you’re alive.” Hal huffs, and he slowly picks up the blueprints and the pair of tweezers again. Then, he moves past Dirk and walks towards the living room. “I know, and it’s super rad. I just want to explore. Is that such a crime?”

“What are you doing with those?” Dirk follows closely after him.

“I don’t know. When do I get to meet Roxy? If I can’t leave, can she come over?” He plops down on the couch, holding the rolled up blueprints under one arm. Hal squeezes the tweezers experimentally. 

“No you’re not. You’re holding a set of blueprints and a pair of tweezers like you’ve got some major goddamn business to attend to. You don’t have shit to attend to, dog.” Dirk pauses for a second. “Speaking of dog, I’m picking the cat up tomorrow.”

“Sweet.” He lets the pressure off of the tweezers, opening them. Then he shuts them again. Open. Shut. “You’re cleaning the litterbox.” Open. Shut.

“No I’m not. That was part of the deal, remember?” A small smile itches on Dirk’s lips.

“What? Come on dude.” Open. Shut. Open. “You’re being lame.”

He breaks out into a full-on grin. “I’m just fucking with you. I didn’t actually buy a kitten. I don’t need you and a cat teaming up to tear my entire apartment apart.” In an almost automatic response, Hal rolls his eyes. 

“You know what? I’m insulted. My feelings are hurt. They are permanently damaged. Thanks a lot.”

“I don’t have a patch for that. I guess they’re going to stay that way.” Dirk sits beside him and grabs the remote. The television is on, but his attention is completely on the android man beside him.

“Whatever you say.” Hal is busy with the pair of tweezers. He takes a bit of skin between the two metal ends and pinches himself. It makes him jump. “Shit.”

Dirk snickers. “Why did you even do that?

“To see if it would work. Yep. I’m fairly certain that was pain.”


End file.
